My Father's Hands

I sought to write about my dad for a week now. Finally I have been given the opportunity. Last week I was sitting in church listening to the word of God being preached. My mind began to wonder. I know the timing was a little off for that but I started to miss my dad. He’s been gone for almost 10 years now. Times passed us by and although it has I remember him like it was only yesterday.

The fondest memory I have of my dad is when I was church as a little girl. I remember holding my dads BIG hands; well they were bigger then mine! His hand was so warm, gentle, hairy, and strong; it was my father’s hands. Thirty plus years and I can’t seem to forget his hands. I even remember some of the lines engraved. They were always so clean. His nails cut short (and even). You know, my dad never had dirty hands. Not even when he worked on our yard.

Anyway, I would sit in church with my hands gripped in his. I was so comforted knowing that my papi was taking care of me, just by holding my hand. He was my daddy. He loved me so much. I was his little girl; just because he held my hand. I remember moments where I would sit there and play with his hairs. I remember even tangling his hair because he had so much (I say this with a gentle laugh). I wonder how he unraveled the mess I made. I know he never shaved his hairy hands. Again, I have this smile. You know what? His fingers were hairy too.

Funny isn’t it? Our family traveled, ate at the finest restaurants (when we ate out), went to the movies (often), ate together, went to church together, and yet the only memory that stands out is my father’s hands. It’s not what he said or the lame jokes he told. I’m sure the things he shared with us stuck through out my life. I see myself at times still interested in wanting to listen to his stories one more time, but nothing is fonder to me then him holding my hand.

I have two girls and one son; so far. I wonder if one day when their father passes (because his time will run out) what memory they will have. Will they remember his smile or the way he sat there enlightened by his children laughing at the silliest things they did? Will he meet his grandchildren one day? Will he have great grandchildren? What will his legacy be?

My dad met his grandchildren, but not all. My daughter remembers him the best (I think). She remembers my dad holding her. That’s it, just being held by her grandpa. He didn’t have to say a word. It was only the love he had for us and even words didn’t matter much in the end.

Of course my dad was pretty smart, NO, MY father was intelligent. Yes that is what he was. I don’t know how many fathers read this. For those who do, do me one favor? Let your children hold your hand every chance you get. Hold them every chance you have them there with you. Love them even at their worst because they may never remember what words came out of your mouth but only how it felt to be loved by their father.

I miss my daddy. I miss his voice, his passion for life, his artist look on Gods incredible creations, his strength, his love, his hands….

For the children young and old, enjoy your father let him hold you one more time. God knows when he’ll call your daddy home. Take advantage…I wish I would have.